


Nate

by ellebb



Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Backstory, Chinese-American SoSu, Conflict, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Kinda, Male Sole Survivor - Freeform, Post-Reunions, lotta talking good lord, questionable parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebb/pseuds/ellebb
Summary: After killing Kellogg, the last thing Evelyn expected was to get into a fight with Piper and Nick.  She's caught between revenge and finding Shaun, and her friends doubt her judgment (Hancock has mixed feelings).  But it gives her an opportunity to talk about a subject she hasn't touched since getting defrosted: Nate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the quest Reunions, because it irritated me that Piper and Nick disapprove when you choose to say you'd kill Kellogg again if you could. D8 No smut this time, I just wanted to get back into the swing of things by writing out some of my SoSu's backstory. :)

“ _Whoa, man_.”

“My feelings exactly,” Hancock muttered.

He was _this close_ to adding open-mouthed jackass imitation to his list of party tricks as he stared off into the distance, into the skies over southern Boston.  A-- _thing_ , a fucking _thing_ was puttering across the heavens, huge and metallic and even from this distance whirring and roaring.  Must be huge, ‘cause it was dominating the horizon.  Fat and pill-like -- you know what?  Actually, it was definitely _dick-like_.  Giant steel dick floating in the sky.

Hancock pulled his gaze away to glare at the bottle of bourbon dangling in his hand, the other hand hovering at chest-height with a cigarette stopped half-way to his mouth.  He hadn’t even started on a good buzz yet.  He squinted at the flying thing again.  Still there.  Fuck.

Professor Goodfeels had lost interest, though.  He hissed away on his blue jets, clinking and rusty.

“Groovy,” the Mr. Handy said.

Hancock ignored Goodfeels as he floated up the hill further into Sunshine Tidings Co-op.  Instead, he watched the _thing_ from the broad doorway of the settlement’s barn-turned-workshop.  He smoked and inhaled the metallic, stale taste, trying to clear his head.  For all his talk about taking a walk outta Goodneighbor in search of excitement, this was not exactly the sort of _excitement_ he’d had in mind.  Supermutant suiciders, yes.  Giant steel dicks propelling themselves across the sky, _no_.

Seriously, though, the sort of technology it would take to power something like that thing?  Nothing the Commonwealth had ever seen in his lifetime.  Maybe the Institute, but no one counts the boogeyman.

Hancock began pacing.  Dust whirled in his wake, wafting over the workbenches and the machine tools, the stuttering generator.  The thing was settling over what looked like that abandoned airport.  He didn’t know what he should do.  Evelyn had asked him to wait for her here, at the Co-op.  She was finally tracking down that s.o.b. Kellogg.  She’d taken Valentine because he was the detective, the hound on her missing persons case.  Piper, because nosy.  And Dogmeat, because a dog can track.

Hancock had parted ways with her to check on some personal business in Goodneighbor.  Ostensibly.  Non-ostensibly?  Maybe he felt a little weird about her mission to avenge her husband, find her kid.  About his place in all that.  Okay, _on paper_ it was simple.  As her friend, he should support her in any way he could.  But he just felt fucking weird about it.  And he didn’t want to think about what his fee-- what _that_ implied.

In any case, Hancock had no idea when they’d finish up, and that giant flying thing had him worried about Goodneighbor.  Fahrenheit could handle herself, but he had a bad feeling about this new development.

Hancock smoked and paced.  He paced and paced.  He turned on the radio sitting on a shelf surrounded by adhesive and duct tape, but neither Travis nor the Minuteman with the butter-voice had anything informative to say.  Darkness was deepening, and the starlight and moonlight was intensifying, when he decided he’d give it another hour or so and then head for his city.  Leave word with the settlers; Evelyn would understand.

But then footsteps were crunching up the path through the sparse copse around the Co-op, accompanied by the distinctive huffs of a panting dog.  The clicking of the rotating turrets remained rhythmic and even, so it could only be friendlies.  Hancock went to meet them at the barn doorway.

Dogmeat padded up to him happily, happy just to be a dog and alive and getting pat-pats on his head.  Everyone else?  Not so much.  Nick had a stiff set to his lips, his vivid yellow eyes burning up the darkness.  Piper just looked tired as fuck with puffy eyes and dragging feet.  Evelyn had an arm wrapped and propped in a sling, but it didn’t look too serious.  Her expression, however.  It was that weird cold, collected one that usually meant she was seriously pissed.

They each gave him half-hearted greetings, pulling up chairs to an old oversized cable spool as a makeshift table.  Evelyn grabbed Hancock’s abandoned bourbon and fumbled around the shelves and cabinets for passable glasses.  Nick explained, yeah, they’d also seen the _thing_ and heard it announce itself as the airship of the BOS, heralds of good tidings for the Commonwealth.  No harm will befall them, as long as they don’t interfere.  Christ.

Evelyn finally joined them, an empty jar and an actual glass tucked into her sling.  The glass tumbled into Hancock’s lap, the jar rolled toward Piper.  Evelyn uncorked the whiskey with her teeth.

“We’ll worry about the Brotherhood in the morning,” she said. “Tonight, we’re celebrating, Hancock.”

Generous shots were poured for him and the reporter.  Piper looked up from her little notebook with a frown.

“Blue…” she trailed off.

Evelyn tipped the bottle back, her throat working around a good swig.  The bottle hit the table with a bang.  She didn’t even make whiskey-face.  Damn.  _This woman_.  Hancock threw back his own shot obediently.  Maybe there was a sudden army on the ‘Wealth’s doorstep, but far be it from him to miss an opportunity to get wasted.

Piper fiddled with her jar for a long moment, glancing at Nick.  But Valentine was still frowning quietly, arms folded, gazing down at his lap.   Evelyn’s eyes were burning a hole into Piper.  Hancock swiveled around to eye them all.

He cleared his throat. “There, ah, a special reason we’re celebrating?”

He didn’t like this weird tension happening.  Especially on the night that one of them was supposed to be confronting the man that ruined her life.

Evelyn turned to him. “I killed Kellogg.  So we’re celebrating.”

She smoothly poured him another shot, cool as you please.  And took another herself straight from the bottle.  Her dark eyes were cast iron and tempered steel.

“Right, Pipes?” Evelyn said.

Piper was still scowling at her jar silently.  Valentine coughed and leaned forward.

“Evelyn,” he said, tone low and placating. “We already apologized.  Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”

She stared back at him. “Maybe I could if I didn’t feel that you’re just humoring me.  That you still think I’m wrong.”

“If we could have Kellogg alive, it might’ve made it easier to find Shaun--”

“That sonofabitch killed my husband.  _Murdered_ him in cold blood.”

Her voice was tremulous, wavering somewhere between the cold fire of fury and hot tears.

“And who’s going to bring me justice in this world? _You_?  The last cop in the wasteland?”

She laughed derisively, eyes gleaming.  She took another shot.

Hancock eyed them.  Piper’s expression had turned indignant, but Valentine’s steady gaze stilled her.  But there was a slightly hurt set to the synth’s mouth and brow.  Hancock decided to cut in.

“Someone want to let the uninformed in on what’s going on?” he rasped.

Valentine sighed.  Turns out, Kellogg was working with the Institute and gave them Shaun.  To find him, they would need to access the most illusive organization in the Commonwealth.  And the only person they knew of with such access was _very_ recently deceased.  And apparently when the three had discussed this earlier, Evelyn had stated outright that she would’ve done it again.  Which led to an argument on the relative moral values of such a judgment.

“Look,” Valentine said, leaning toward Evelyn. “The deed’s done.  You’ve gotten your revenge, for what it’s worth.” His voice was soft, his yellow eyes mollifying.

“But, kid, you hired me to help find your son.  Right?”

Evelyn’s blank gaze didn’t quite catch on the synth’s.  She looked down at her hand, with its single streak of dried blood and the bottle of bourbon clenched in her fingers.  

“Right,” she said.

But she shook her head and continued. “I’m still planning on getting wasted, though.  And I’m not likely to get any more pleasant.”

Piper finally threw back her jar of liquor.  She held out her glass to Evelyn, shrugging at the look she received.

“I may not exactly get what you’re going through, Blue, but poor life decisions are my specialty, and I can at least keep you company through this one.”

Evelyn snorted, but poured her another shot anyway.  Hancock downed his own generous helping of the dark searing liquid.  He had too high of a tolerance to get even close to tipsy after two shots, but he would keep pace with Evelyn as long as she needed.  And she definitely seemed to need the oblivion of alcohol tonight.

“Myself,” Hancock stated. “I say, _fuck_ Kellogg.  No offense, Nicky, but some jobs have to be done yourself.  Some things can’t wait for civilized methods to sort out.  Some things can’t be satisfied by _talking it out_.”

Valentine sighed, but didn’t attempt to argue the point.  The detective turned back to his client.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

“Kellogg?  Isn’t that what we’re doing?” she asked.

He shifted his fedora, golden eyes blinking slowly. “No.  Your husband.”

Evelyn frowned and lowered the whiskey bottle from her lips.

“No--” she stopped. “Wait. Yes,  I… I think I might.  I haven’t really in so long.  It might help.”

Carefully, she leaned forward and placed the bottle on the table.  They were quiet a moment, watching the shifts in her expression.  This woman that stumbled into the ‘Wealth and whirled through it like a storm of confidence and wit and righteousness.  Dogmeat had settled down in a corner, huffing and mumbling sleepily.  Insects pinged and buzzed off the quietly humming light overhead.  Evelyn glanced at Hancock.

“Light me a cigarette?” she asked, indicated her incapacitated arm.

She studied him impassively, like there was something to be read in his expression.  Like he himself knew what he felt about this turn in the conversation.  Hancock had to admit, he was curious about this phantom that seemed to cling to Evelyn.  He knew he’d been a soldier, but he’d never inquired further.  It seemed painful for her, and the lack of communication on the subject made it easier to forget the fact that the dead husband was probably the reason Evelyn was sleeping with him.  Lonely, she’d said.  She was lonely.  Tired of needing touch, the act of touch, and release.  Things Hancock could provide.  Provided the situation didn’t get messy.

He pulled his pack of cigarettes out, lit one between his thin lips, and held it out for her.  Evelyn accepted it silently.  She sighed as she blew smoke.

“The thing about Nate,” she started, “was that he was handsome.”

She chuckled a little. “Really fucking handsome.”

Valentine lit his own cigarette, and Piper sipped on her jar.  Evelyn stared off at nothing in particular.

“Tall and dark.  Cut an amazing figure in his blues.  Major Nathaniel Knox, hundred and eighth infantry, second battalion.  Decorated hero of Aniak, Anchorage, Nanjing.  Had to buy a new tin of polish every time he cleaned his medals.”

The bourbon was passed around again.  And Hancock hoped the liquor would rehydrate the thing that was shriveling up in his gut right now.  Tall, dark and handsome war hero, Jesus H. Christ.

“We met--” Evelyn stopped and frowned. “Actually, I don’t want to talk about how we met.  Just, we met by chance when I was still in law school.  For years we met occasionally between his tours until I needed his help.  I was at a firm then.  Two feds, nameless and rankless of course, came to my office and questioned me.  The usual shit.  Are you a Communist?  Are you sure?  Really, _really_ sure you’re not the Red Menace?”

She rolled her cigarette between her fingers.

“My father and sister got the same treatment.  But we spoke perfect English and had white collar jobs, Ivy League degrees, so that seemed to lessen the effect of the yellow skin and the slant eyes.  And then Nate married me.  He was in the news a lot then: the model soldier, held a tiny under-stocked garrison against a tide of Chinese.  It would’ve looked extra awkward if his wife and her family was thrown into an internment camp.”

This was the most Hancock had heard her speak about the subject.  She had said, yes, she was Chinese-American, but nothing else.  And he’d wondered because all the stories from the time were never pretty.  Across the table, Piper was another shot in and unabashedly letting her reporter tendencies out, leaning forward with flushed cheeks and transfixed eyes.  Valentine was nursing his cigarette quietly.

“So my name changed from Xu to Knox.  I couldn’t say if we were in love then.  I mean, yeah, Nate was helping me out.  That was part of it, but not all of it.  We might have fallen in love at first sight, it might’ve been something we built up over the years.  I might not have really realized it until the end.”

She tapped away ashes and took another drink from the bottle.

“Memory is funny like that.  Anyway, Nate and I lived pretty much like a normal American couple.  I worked a lot, saving up vacation days for when he got the chance to come home.  Normal, I guess, except for the open relationship thing.”

“So how did _that_ work?” Piper asked. “Pre-war people never seemed so liberal to me.”

Evelyn shrugged.

“For us, sex was never enough with one partner.  Humans crave variety, and Nate and I were very human.  I had tried at first to do the things my parents wanted: date a nice boy, preferably Chinese, and wait until marriage.  But nice boys and their nice plans bored me.  Nate never was able to stay true before me, and he got sick of being the bad guy.  The cheater.”

She leaned back in her chair, showing the effect of the whiskey in the softer set to her body, the more relaxed line of her shoulders.

“We had rules, boundaries.  And that made it work for us.  Sure, we didn’t go shouting from the white picket fence that we were swingers, but the world then wasn’t as prudish as the advertisements led you to believe.”

Valentine snorted. “I could see that.”

Hancock chuckled, taking yet another shot from the quickly dwindling bottle. “Ol’ Detective Valentine got up to some kinky shit, huh?”

The synth shook his head. “Some of the cases… I keep meaning to scrub the memory cards one of these days.”

Evelyn smiled through the collected nicotine smoke.

“You’ll have to tell me some of those stories before you do.  For posterity.”  She sighed. “Anyway, we fought, too.  Money, mostly.  He liked to spend.  And he made good money, but not nearly as much as I did.  I was handling some big clients -- I was in corporate law, by the way -- Abraxodyne, Grey Tortoise, General Atomics…  Nate liked to spend, and I sometimes forgot that clause in marriage about what’s mine is yours or whatever.”

Hancock glanced down at his cigarette pack.  Grey Tortoise.  He preferred Big Boss, but you took what you could get in the wasteland.  It was hard to imagine the life Evelyn was describing, that the shoddy old ads pictured.  A time of companies in power, vague entities full of nameless people.  Identifiable only by the _things_ they made, not the people they were.

Evelyn continued, “The war wasn’t kind to him, either.  It was worst after Anchorage.  I thought it would be even harder after Nanjing, but maybe by then he got better at hiding it.”

She shook her head and accepted a fresh smoke from Hancock.

“Anyway, he retired for good.  Became civilian.  And I had plans then.  Big plans.  I’m sure it will shock you all to know I was ambitious.”

Piper rolled her eyes.

“You?” Hancock asked innocently. “The woman who seduced the most powerful and good-looking ghoul in the ‘Wealth?”

She half-heartedly kicked at his leg.

“You’re lucky I’m too drunk and injured to lay into you.”

“Not too drunk and injured for _me_ to lay into, though,” he leered.

Piper coughed. “You were ambitious, Blue?” she said pointedly.

Evelyn shrugged her good shoulder, thumbing the cigarette in her cocked hand.

“I was prepping Nate for a career in politics.  I had connections then, had carefully built up contacts through work and country clubs and charitable organizations.  Like I said, Nate was handsome.  Charismatic.  He knew how to work people, and if you could’ve seen his smile, you’d know he was made for politics, too.”

She swallowed then, apparently seeing that smile herself.  Her dark eyes darted down.

“That Sunday,” she started.  Stopped.

And Hancock realized she meant _that_ Sunday.  The day the world obliterated itself.

“That Sunday,” Evelyn said thinly, “was the day Nate was giving a speech at the Veteran’s Hall.  The mayor was going to be there, a state senator.  There was an open seat on Boston’s city council.  And we were going to announce our intention to run.”

She closed her eyes and massaged her temple, rotating the thumb of the hand holding a cigarette, the white fog wafting about her like a halo.

“I had a plan.  Three kids over five-seven years.  Get my junior partnership, senior partnership within ten years after.  City council member, mayor.  The state legislature.  Then either Governor or Senator, depending on where the political winds were blowing.  A term or two there, then run for Vice-President.  With the candidate that was _not_ going to win.  We’d stick our toes in, get Nate’s name on every television in every household.   _Then_ \-- the next election, set our eyes on the White House.”

Evelyn exhaled, eyes blank.

Piper whistled, low and amazed. “Damn.”

“I was ambitious.  I had a _plan_ ,” she said, charging the world _plan_ with all the bitterness of a life denied, a golden opportunity smothered before it even caught fire.  She shook her head. “I could’ve done it, too.  I had all it took to put him there.  And if you’dve known him, seen that perfect smile _made_ for primetime ad spots…”

She sighed. “Sometimes, though.  I wonder.  The general stereotype of that time was that all these housewives were trapped by conventionality.  I wonder if I had trapped Nate in all my planning, in my American dream.  I don’t know if he was happy then.  Really happy.”

The pause stretched to a silence.  Hancock realized how very little he knew about this woman.  About her inner desires, the ones that really mattered.  About the way she’d lived once, in a world that did all that it could to dictate who she was by the way she looked.  And then she’d told the world to go fuck itself.  But in the telling off, in the resentment, she might’ve lost something of herself.  Felt lost.  It made him feel shitty, her feeling shitty.  He resolved to tell her about Vic and McDonough one of these days.

“And now all I have left are a couple rings and regrets,” Evelyn said. “I regret being so petty about money.  I regret nagging him about his meds, his therapy.  I regret not putting more effort into making him happy, and not pushing him all the time.  I regret hurting my friends.”

She glanced at Valentine and Piper. “So I’ll hope you’ll forgive me if I say that I would kill Kellogg all over again.  A hundred times, I’d do it again.  Revenge is all I can give Nate now.”

The detective was silent, sorrowful.  His yellow gleaming eyes held sympathy and a measure of pity.  The reporter was upset, bleary from weariness and liquor, chewing her lips.

Hancock frowned.  That couldn’t be right.

“I don’t buy it,” he said, leaning toward Evelyn.

She met his gaze dully, eyes dry.

“I know you well enough to know you’d never take up with a pushover.  I’m betting if Nate really didn’t want what you wanted, he’da got the hell outta dodge.  And if Nate felt even a little of what you did, I know he’d want you to be happy.  That’s the last thing you can give him.  Revenge is sweet for a bit, but it don’t last.  You bein’ happy, though?”

Hancock shook his head. “That’s what he wants, Ev’.  I’d put caps on it.”

Weaving a little, she gave him a lopsided smile.

“That’s sweet,” she said, not entirely convinced sounding.

And it pissed him off a little.  Couldn’t she see?  Couldn’t she see how she deserved happiness more than most, that she was wonderful and any creature that loved her would never want her to fall into a bitter limbo like this?  Perpetually hung up on what coulda been, words unsaid.  He wanted to show her a future that was fulfilling and happy.  But how could he promise that?  How could anyone, in this shitstain of a world, this place where promises were inevitably empty things said to reassure one another.  Who was he to say he could give her anything?  He was just as empty and ineffectual as any drifter out here, a coward that always, always, always ran.

It pissed him off.  It hurt.

And then the weight of the night pushed them all apart, each tottering off to find a corner to pass out in.  Hancock settled in a dreary doze on blankets piled on a pallet in the barn, hearing the whuff and whimper of Dogmeat and occasionally the clank of Professor Goodfeels around the compound.  Exclamations of “Groovy!” trailing in the whirr of his jets.

And in that limitless time between the deepest nadir of night and the first cracks of creeping pallor of dawn, he was unsurprised when she came to him.  A waft of acrid, bitter breath and gentle fingers.  He knew she’d come, had known it like a dream, a seeping of déjà vu into the crannies of his half-waking.  They were small things, tepid and small and clutching each other under the breadth and depth of history.  Rutting in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading~


End file.
